V
While the Count was in the study, Anna Fyódorovna had approached her brother, and, imagining that she ought for some reason to pretend to be very little interested in the Count, began to ask:
“Who is that hussar who was dancing with me? Can you tell me, brother?”
The cavalryman explained to his sister as well as he could what a great man this hussar was, and told her at the same time that the Count was only stopping in K⸺ because his money had been stolen on the way, that he himself had lent the Count a hundred roubles, but that that was not enough, so that perhaps “sister” might lend another couple of hundred. Only, Zavalshévsky asked her on no account to tell anyone, especially not the Count. Anna Fyódorovna promised to send him the money that night and to keep the affair secret, but somehow during the ecossaise she felt a great longing herself to offer the Count as much money as he wanted. She took a long time making up her mind, and blushed, but at last made a great effort, and set to work in the following manner:—
“My brother tells me that a misfortune befell you on the road, Count, and that you have no money by you. If you want any, would you not take some of mine? I should be so glad.”
But having said this, Anna Fyódorovna suddenly felt frightened of something, and blushed. All gaiety instantly left the Count’s face.
“Your brother is a fool!” he said abruptly. “You know, when a man insults another man they fight; but when a woman insults a man, what does he do then—do you know?”
Poor Anna Fyódorovna’s neck and ears grew red with confusion. She cast down her eyes and said nothing.
“He kisses the woman in public,” said the Count, in a low voice, leaning towards her ear. “Allow me to kiss at least your hand,” he added in a whisper, after a prolonged silence, taking pity on his partner’s confusion.
“Ah, only not now!” uttered Anna Fyódorovna, with a deep sigh.
“When then? I am leaving early tomorrow, and you owe it me.”
“Well then, it’s impossible,” said Anna Fyódorovna, with a smile.
“Only allow me an opportunity of meeting you tonight to kiss your hand. I shall not fail to find it.”
“How can you find it?”
“That is not your business. In order to see you everything is possible. … It’s agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The ecossaise ended. After that they danced a mazurka, and the Count was quite wonderful: catching handkerchiefs, kneeling on one knee, striking his spurs together in a quite special Warsaw manner, so that all the old people left their game of “boston” and flocked into the ballroom to see, and the cavalryman, the best mazurka dancer, confessed himself eclipsed. Then they had supper, after which they danced the “Grandfather,” and the ball began to break up. The Count never took his eyes off the widow. It was not pretence when he said he was ready to jump through a hole in the ice for her sake. Whether it was whim, or love, or obstinacy, that evening all his mental powers were concentrated in one desire—to meet and love her. As soon as he noticed that Anna Fyódorovna was taking leave of the hostess, he ran out into the hall, and thence, without his cloak, into the courtyard to the place where the carriages stood.
“Anna Fyódorovna Záytsef’s carriage!” he shouted.
A high, four-seated, closed carriage with lamps burning moved from its place and drew near the porch.
“Stop!” he called to the coachman, and plunging knee-deep into the snow ran to the carriage.
“What do you want?” said the coachman in reply.
“I want to get into the carriage,” answered the Count, opening the door and trying to get in while the carriage was moving. “Stop, you devil, you fool!”
“Váska, stop!” shouted the coachman to the postillion, and pulled up the horses. “What are you getting into other people’s carriages for? This carriage belongs to my mistress, to Anna Fyódorovna, and not to your honour.”
“Well, hold your tongue, blockhead! Here’s a rouble for you; get down and close the door,” said the Count. But as the coachman did not move he lifted the steps himself and, lowering the window, managed somehow to close the door. Inside the carriage, as in all old carriages, especially in those trimmed with yellow galloon, there was a musty smell, something like the smell of rotten and burnt bristles. The Count’s legs were wet with snow up to the knees and felt very cold in his thin boots and riding-breeches; in fact, the winter cold penetrated his whole body. The coachman grumbled on the box, and seemed to be preparing to get down. But the Count neither heard nor felt anything. His face burnt, his heart beat fast. In his nervous tension he seized the yellow window strap and leant out of the side window, and all his being merged into one feeling of expectation.
This feeling of expectation did not long continue. Someone called from the porch, “Záytsef’s carriage!” The coachman shook the reins, the body of the carriage swayed on its high springs, the lighted windows of the house ran one by one past the carriage windows.
“Mind, fellow,” said the Count to the coachman, putting his head out of the window in front, “if you tell the footman I’m here, I’ll thrash you; hold your tongue and you’ll have another ten roubles.”
Hardly had he time to close the window before the body of the carriage shook more violently and the carriage stopped. He pressed close into the corner, held his breath, and even shut his eyes, so terrified was he lest anything should balk his passionate expectation. The door opened, the carriage steps fell noisily one after the other, he heard the rustle of a woman’s dress, a smell of jasmine perfume filled the musty carriage, quick little feet ran up the carriage steps, and Anna Fyódorovna, brushing the Count’s leg with the skirt of her cloak, which had come open, sank silently, but breathing heavily, on to the seat beside him.
Whether she saw him or not no one could tell, not even Anna Fyódorovna herself; but when he took her hand and said, “Well, now I will kiss your hand,” she showed very little fear, gave no reply, but let him take her hand and cover her arm much higher than the top of her glove with kisses. The carriage moved on.
“Say something! Art thou angry?” he said.
She pressed silently into her corner, but suddenly something caused her to burst into tears, and of her own accord she let her head fall on his breast.